Sunday Morning After
by the machination
Summary: [Uzumakisama and Vash's Girl cowrite] The hangover was killer. So was the tattoo and tongue ring he had acquired. But nothing quite compared to the man sleeping beside him. [LeonRiku]


_**Author's Notes:**_

Vash's Girl: Inspired by a well-known song: "Sunday Morning After" by Amanda Marshall. It's very—crazy? Haha, like this couple, which makes absolutely no sense, but is fun to write, anyway. Something new for everyone! Hope you like romantic comedy.

Uzumaki-sama: Okay, so this is based around my fetish couple, and I've been wanting to write a fic with them for a long, long time. It's a combination of a fic I had started to plan, and a fic that VG and I had been planning to write together. :3 I hope this is as enjoyable to read as it is to plan and write!

**Warnings:** Heavy language, sexual themes, and **BOYONBOYLOVE**GAWAHAHA.

* * *

_**Prologue: quaffed**_

**quaff** \KWOFF; KWAFF\, transitive verb:

1) To binge on Jagermeister, Absolut Vodka, and rum by the bottle and leave your ass hanging in the air. 2) Waking up every Sunday morning with your arms wrapped around the toilet like it's your lover. 3) Getting drunk off your ass.

-o-o-

_"Come on, you poor, unfortunate soul! Go ahead, make your choice!" _

Slowly, very slowly, Riku began to come out of the throes of sleep, although by the shrieking of Ursula, he wasn't so sure that he wanted to. Not with that God-awful voice. What kind of squid (octopus?) sang, anyway? Not one on this planet, that was for sure. And in the original fairy tale of the _Little Mermaid_, there hadn't been an Ursula, not like that, no sirree…

At the same time his cell phone went off, an alarm began to beep, and he started under the blankets over his face, blinking groggily. "Wha…?"

_"Always love, hate will get you every time… Always love…"_ the radio crackled, and he groaned in complaint, clenching his eyes shut. Nada Surf. Who listened to them, anyway? And what the hell? His alarm clock didn't have a radio on it!

_"…It won't cost much, just your voice! You poor, unfortunate soul! It's sad, but true…"_ Ursula shrieked, but it was a tough competition with the alarm clock. In the end, he wasn't sure who won, but Ursula was croaking out her last note and Nada Surf didn't seem to be shutting up as Riku flailed an arm out from beneath his covers and let his hand scramble about for his phone.

_"This poor—! Unfortunate soooooooulllllllll—" _

Something crashed, sounded like an alarm clock to Riku, although he couldn't be sure, and then Nada Surf skipped in their lyrics before he managed to snap open his Motorola and place it to his ear. "Hello?" he croaked, and as soon as he did, pain flared up through his throat, making him choke as tears burned at the backs of his eyes. And suddenly, quite suddenly, there was a dull pounding at the base of his skull and at his temples, and _shit_ were his ears ringing!

"Yo, man, where the hell are you!" came a very _loud_ voice, and Riku winced, holding the phone away and fighting to blink away his tears. He had never felt so awful in his entire life—not even that day he had thrown up all of his guts in the toilet while his mom screamed in his ear about black fingernail polish and Satan. "You haven't come home yet!"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Tidus?" Riku tried delicately, wary of his vocal chords, but it only came out as a strained rasp. God—why did it feel like his throat had been rubbed raw with sandpaper? "I _am_ home. Home and sleeping. Now go away."

"You're home?"

"Right."

"Uh _huh_. Well, then if you're home, care to tell me why the hell your bed is empty and—uh—I'm standing here staring at some sheets? Dude, you need to wash these, I think I see ketchup. Ever hear of a kitchen table?"

"…empty…" Riku repeated, not really digesting his friend's words at first, before slowly they began to click into place and he realized that he indeed was not at home. His covers didn't smell like _Tommy_, but instead some cheap-o deodorant he had been using all week because his _Curve_ had run dry. He also took notice of the stench of alcohol around all of this, making the _Tommy_ cologne smell quite grotesque, sort of like when you ate a particularly powerful mint and then downed some Nerds.

And why did his stomach hurt? And, oh God, his tongue… tongue… It felt so heavy…

"Stop lisping, dude. You sound like you've been eating something. Sucker in your mouth again? Well, take it out when someone's talking to you, man, it's rude when you don't."

_I don't HAVE a sucker in my mouth,_ Riku thought with a mental whimper, squeezing his eyes shut again and knowing that he would have throttled Tidus had he been standing there right now. Of _course_ the blonde didn't know that his tongue, his stomach, his throat, his _head_—God, his _**head**!_—were pounding. Of course not.

"Did you stay over at someone's house again, Riku?" came Tidus's voice after a moment, thick with what sounded suspiciously like Riku's food. There was a swallow. "Rakin' in the girls, I suppose. Honestly, we have a paper due in two days, and you probably haven't even started yet."

"Girl… Right…" Riku mumbled, but the thought of girls was escaping him right now. Much like everything else was, everything except how his throat burned like he had been eating pixie sticks all night or something. "I'm gonna go, Tidus. I… yeah. Bye. Talk to you later," he groaned, flipping his cell phone shut before Tidus could get another word in edgewise. Besides, Riku didn't want to hear that obnoxious smacking—and Tidus called _him_ rude for having food in his mouth sometimes while talking on the phone. At least a sucker didn't freakin' smack—well, not when _he_ sucked on one. Hrmph.

_Damn. Where the hell am I? _

This situation was not unfamiliar to him—he had crashed many a party and went home with his hands beneath some girl's shirt, kneading her breasts and listening to her moan into his ear, but usually he had a vague recollection of the night before. Now, however, he didn't. All he had to remind him that he had been drinking was this hangover and the prominent stink of alcohol. That, and _Tommy_. What woman wore _Tommy_?

It was then that he noticed the arm around his waist.

_Oh great, _he groaned in silence, making an annoyed sound aloud instead, which was all his throat could manage without making him want to stab himself. _She's probably one of those giggly beach girls with cute legs that thinks there's something going on between us now that we've had sex. Fuck. _He wasn't looking forward to breaking another heart when he could hardly even think for himself.

He tensed slightly as the warm weight around him tightened in response to his disgruntled noise.

_Jeez... she has a strong grip on me..._

In fact, he couldn't remember any of the previous girls feeling quite as... muscular...

Wait a second.

But the body behind him was already shifting forward and pulling him closer, the covers slipping downward, and the movement made a sudden, searing pain race up his spine from his tailbone, feeling like a fucking firecracker had been set off in his ass. And his arm. And various other sore parts of his body that he didn't even think could feel sore. Like his tongue!

What the _hell?_

When a firm, well-toned, _flat_ chest pressed into his back and hard nipples brushed against his shoulder blades, his eyes flew open in shock. And in that split second, as the light of the room pierced his eyes and made his headache flare into full force again, and just as he was registering the smell of _Tommy_ and alcohol and what fucked up situation he might have landed himself in, his bed partner leaned in, brushed a nose against Riku's cheek, and breathed softly against his ear before speaking in a deep, sleep-gruff voice.

"I didn't think Disney allowed ringtones for their music..."

_HOLY **SHIT**—that's a **guy**!_

His first instinct screaming for distance between himself and another dick, Riku suddenly lurched off the bed—or would have, if the arm around him hadn't been holding him so tightly, so instead of jerking away from the guy like he had intended, he ended up in a wrestling match with him. The bastard held onto him, letting him squirm, his heart leaping into his throat as he struggled against the firm hold. He kicked out with all of his strength, the sheets flew, and Riku fell into hysterics as the other man tried to roll their positions over to pin Riku down.

In a desperate attempt to get away, he jabbed his elbow backwards, digging into a hip bone, and a sharp—"_FUCK!_"—rang in the room right as the alarm clock radio, still playing, segued into another song. Riku must have hit the guy hard enough because he was suddenly freed from the strong grip.

He immediately lunged for the side of the bed to freedom, but before he could twist himself around to get to his feet, his hangover slammed back into him, dizziness overcoming him as the throbbing in his skull returned, and he crashed to the floor, legs over head, his feet still caught in the covers.

Then, the pain caught up with him again.

"_Owwwww..._"

As he lay there groaning, his arm and ass and throat burning, he wrenched his eyes shut to keep his mind from spinning more than it already was, the unfamiliar ceiling only making him feel worse. His tongue felt like lead weight, worse than any alcohol aftereffects, so with a wary mind, he dragged his tongue against his teeth—

And heard a distinctive clink of metal. A tongue piercing.

He hadn't had that _before_ he had gotten drunk.

"Fuck..." he rasped, dropping his head to the floor. He threw a hand over his eyes, blocking out the light still bothering him from beyond his eyelids. His entire body screamed in protest at the simple movement, especially his arm.

_Why_ his arm? He got the sore throat part, with the alcohol. He understood the sore ass part, from... something he didn't want to even think about. But the arm... He hissed, placing a hand over the sore area of his bicep, feeling the cool smoothness of a bandage instead of his skin. So either he had been shot, or he now had... a tattoo?

"_Fuck_," he groaned again, because that last part seemed more likely.

It wasn't until he heard the radio shut off that he moved his arm and cracked his eyes open. The man on the bed seemed to have recovered from his attack, and Riku felt the sheets moving against his bare feet on the mattress as the man shifted around. The bed sunk under his weight as he moved to the edge, his head appearing near Riku's knee.

Shaggy brown hair framed his face as he stared down at Riku with stormy gray eyes, expression sullen, careful, contemplating, but the shadows under his eyes and his furrowed brow indicated that he probably felt as miserable as Riku did. Even through the pounding in his skull, Riku noticed the scar running diagonally across the bridge of the man's nose, and something about him seemed entirely familiar.

Their eyes met briefly, gray analyzing green, and Riku had to force himself to keep at least one eye open, his body wanting to block out the intense Sunday afternoon sunlight coming in through a window nearby. When the man lowered his face, gazes still meeting, and his cheek grazed Riku's bare knee, Riku tensed again, the slight scrape of morning stubble waking him up enough for his attitude to rear up.

"Who the _fuck_ are you?" Riku managed to grit out, pulling his legs off the bed.

The man gave him a knowing look, his expression otherwise perfectly cool and collected. He raised himself onto his elbows, brown hair falling to his shoulders, the muscles of his arms and chest shifting under toned skin, making his clavicles stand out.

Riku watched, feeling the incessant pain in his ass, evidence he couldn't deny.

His stomach caved in on itself, nausea sweeping through him in an all-too-familiar way, and just as his gut gave a lurch of opposition, Riku clamped a hand over his mouth and scrambled to his feet.

"Mmff!"

Panicking, he scanned the simple, bright room for a doorway—there were his _Invader Zim_ boxers hanging off a lampshade, one of his Halloween socks crumpled on the floor, his white button-down shirt slipping precariously off the opposite end of the bed, and his black tie lying twisted next to a pile of clothes that weren't his, and he didn't want to fathom where his shoes or the rest of his clothes or accessories were. In that split second, he found the bathroom door, caught his balance, and staggered with surprising speed towards the sanctuary.

Within moments, he was hugging the porcelain princess and hurling into her clean bowl.

_Ugh... _he thought, bile in the back of his throat, and the pixie stick feeling was growing worse with the burn of acid. He promised himself he'd never drink again—which was normal for a party kid like Riku or anyone else who had had a hangover in their life, but this time he meant it. He didn't want a repeat of th—th—_that_—out there—in that room—

Vomit rose in his stomach again, and he quickly lowered his head, trying to remember the last time that this had happened. Last week? No... sometime sooner. Oh, yeah. Joey had thrown that party, the one where he had slept with that blonde chic, and—

Hands were abruptly pulling his hair back from his face, and he had a moment to be grateful as he choked out some more of the contents in his stomach, his head pounding like a set of drums was alive within it. The fingers stroking his cheeks were cool, slender, soft, bringing with them a memory of his mother back before she had shunned Riku from her life. He laid his cheek against the porcelain of the toilet, closing his eyes and exhaling, ignoring the icky burn of vomit for now.

"Shh..." the owner of those comforting fingers soothed, and a hand rubbed between his shoulder blades in circles, making a faint smile trace along his lips.

Then he jerked and nearly cracked his skull on the toilet lid as realization dawned. Repulsed, he slapped the hands touching him away, struggling a little, only to groan and rise onto his knees, chugging into the dirty water before him again.

It was going to be a long day if this kept up.

"I'll get you something," the unwanted man murmured, and Riku heard his bare footsteps whisper against the linoleum before he was gone, leaving Riku to retch by himself, the sounds bouncing off the tiled walls.

"Guh..." he gasped, blindly flailing a hand out for toilet paper. He ripped off a good wad, bringing it to his lips and wiping the spittle away. God—what was he going to do to get rid of this God-forsaken taste in his mouth? It wasn't his place, so he couldn't chow down on a ham and cheese hot pocket like he usually did... not unless this weird guy had them, but then, he didn't want to trust him. What if he had slipped an aphrodisiac or that date rape drug into his alcohol last night? For all Riku knew, this bastard could be planning for another round with his ass.

At the thought of it, his bottom flared painfully, and he let out a strained whimper into the depths of the toilet. He knew that his body wasn't the only thing hurting, however—his mind was close behind. He was traumatized for life.

Even if he couldn't remember shit from what had happened.

He shakily pulled himself to his feet, one hand holding clamping onto the rim of the nearby sink with a death grip as he reached to flush the toilet with his other. The gush and swirling sound of water made his stomach turn over again, but he held back the gagging reflex, not looking forward to dry heaving anywhere. He managed to slump onto the sink, his legs hardly keeping his weight up.

Grimacing, he lifted his face and squinted into the mirror hanging several inches above the faucet. Not surprisingly, he looked like shit. Heavy shadows under his eyes, dried eyeliner running down the sides of his cheeks, his lips blotchy and chapped, and...

He slowly stuck out his swollen tongue, taking a look at the foreign red ball that hadn't been there before last night. What in the hell had possessed him to get one of these? As if his bellybutton piercing hadn't been enough metal on his body, though that one had been under the influence of Tidus and Sora daring him. At least he could blame this new one on the alcohol.

The thick white bandage on his arm also caught his attention, but he didn't want to take it off and risk more nausea over seeing whatever lay under it.

The piercing and fresh tattoo weren't the only surprises he found, though. Dark bruises dotted his neck and chest, proving that what had transpired last night had been at least somewhat pleasurable for him, even if a guy had _invaded_ his ass. Taking a closer look at himself, he didn't fail to notice the various kiss marks scattered around the rest of his body either, including the insides of his thighs and along his abdomen.

Swallowing past the burn of his throat, Riku lifted his gaze back to the mirror. Glaring at his own reflection, he flipped the faucet on and proceeded to drown himself in the sink.

"You might want to wash your mouth out," came the suggestion behind him, deep and slightly amused, "before that tongue of yours gets an infection."

Riku whipped his head up, wet hair slapping his bare shoulders, and he narrowed his eyes at the reflection of the other man in the mirror. The guy was carrying a tall glass of some thick brown liquid that Riku didn't even want to venture a guess at. He had put on some drawstring pajama pants, which hung dangerously low on his sharp hips, where Riku saw a similar thick white bandage. He must have gotten a tattoo as well, though Riku couldn't help thinking that the left hip was a girly place to have one.

Grunting in response, Riku cupped his hands under the faucet and washed his mouth out a few times, purposely keeping his gaze away from the other man, who he felt approach, the warmth of his body like a furnace as he brushed just past Riku to grab something from the edge of the sink. Listerine. He pushed the bottle against Riku's bowed head, silently commanding him to use it.

"What's it to you?" Riku grumbled after he had spat out the water in his mouth. He straightened, taking the Listerine bottle and beginning to unwind it, lifting a brow at the man and wondering what the hell he had planned, anyway—it wasn't like they were going to be sucking face. Nausea gripped him again, but this time he remained upright, calmly lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a mouthful, swishing the fiery liquid around.

"It's not to me," the other man replied, taking the bottle away and capping it as he set it back to the side. "But I made this for you—it's something to help you get rid of your hangover." He placed this, too, off to the side, before resting a hip against the sink and folding his arms over his chest. "To be honest, I can't remember what you said your name was. I remember everything but that—but then, it could be that you never told me what it was."

Feeling vaguely irritated with himself—how could his body and mind go and betray him like that when he hadn't even been fully aware of it?—Riku pushed away from the sink, not wanting to be so near this guy. "Listen," he said stiffly, jerking his head towards the brown substance in the glass, "I'm not drinking that. I've seen the movies—I know how this works. You make a concoction for me, a family concoction, I drink it, and then I gag horribly. And I'm—"

"A wimp, obviously." A smirk lit among the other's lips, and gray eyes narrowed in what seemed like a predatory manner. Riku took a step back despite himself, warning bells going off in his side and overwhelming his pride at being called a wimp. "You were downing jagermeister last night. Jagermeister and rum and Absolut Vodka by the bottle. So—I think that if you can't drink this glass of my family concoction, then you really are indeed a wimp."

Riku furrowed his brows. "What the hell makes you think that I'm going to drink that? You could have put an aphrodisiac or anything in that!"

The man rolled his eyes, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, and it made Riku bristle angrily. "Do you honestly think that I'd put something like that in a drink? Obviously, I never had to go that far in the first place." He lifted his glass and held it out to Riku. "It's up to you whether or not you'll drink it, but it's not half bad, and it tastes sort of like strawberries."

"..." Riku turned his head away, trying to ignore the pounding behind his eyes. "So it's really a family concoction?"

"Sure."

Riku snapped his gaze back to the bare-chested man's only to find that smirk spreading wider. Irritated, he snatched the glass from the man and turned, squeezing his nose closed with one hand and downing the contents of the drink using the other.

"My name's Squall," the man informed him, voice drifting quietly over Riku's ears. Quiet seemed to be a part of his nature. Quiet and arrogant and damn irritating. Well, it didn't matter. Once Riku left, he'd never have to hear from this guy again. "...And I see that you're regretting the night before." There was a soft exhalation, but Riku barely heard it as he gagged the gross liquid down. This tasted nothing like strawberries!

"The night before shouldn't have ever happened," Riku gasped, slamming the glass down on the sink counter. He scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing that he had never took the man's advice and drank the awful stuff—it had better help him get over this hangover, or there was going to be hell to pay. _And I'm going to kill Sora whenever I get my hands on him. _

Sora was the last thing he remembered. Sora, and that shot of jager, and pounding music—and then fog. Just fog, nothing more, nothing less. The events after Sora were blurred by this fog, shrouded in mystery, and try as he might, Riku couldn't grasp onto how he had met this Squall person, or—his tongue ring, his tattoo, how he had fallen into bed with Squall...

Stumbling over to the wall and sliding down its cool surface to land in a ball at its base, Riku swallowed again, trying to rid that foreign taste from his mouth, lifting his arms up and over his head. It was too bright, even if there were no lights on. He'd give anything to be in a closet right now, but there was only the scent of _Tommy _and alcohol and Listerine.

"That didn't taste anything like strawberries," Riku croaked.

"I put strawberry syrup in it," Squall returned. "Figured it'd help the taste."

Unable to tell if he was being sarcastic or not, Riku blearily opened his eyes and looked up to him. "Can I—have a shower?" His throat felt so raw, and he couldn't raise his voice above a whisper anymore without his vocal chords protesting in pain. Maybe a shower would help wash away this air of invisible filth he felt on him. "Please," he added as an afterthought, although the man standing before him and tilting his head didn't deserve any politeness. Not for what his dick had done to Riku's very delicate ass.

He nearly moaned at the thought, raising his wrist to his eyes and exhaling shakily. Man. When would this nightmare end? Now that he had vomited and had had time to adjust to everything, the horror of what had really happened was beginning to sink in. He had slept with a _man_—and not just a pretty boy around his age, but a full-blooded _man _with a name that meant a sudden, _violent storm_! GOD! What had he been thinking!

Tears burned at the backs of his eyes, but he rapidly blinked them away, not wanting to show such a weakness in front of this stranger.

If Squall had noticed his moment of angst, he didn't show it. He placed a hand on his good hip and sighed, regarding Riku with an unconcerned expression. "Sure," he said anyway, nodding his head towards the shower. "Towels are in the cabinet next to it. And you might want to take care of the tattoo first," he suggested. "Get the bandage wet and gently peel it off. Then use mild soap and water to clean off any dried blood. And don't let the shower spray hit it directly for two to three weeks." He paused, looking away as he raked a hand through his hair. "That's what the tattooist said. I'll leave the moisturizer in here for when you get out. You need to apply it whenever your tattoo gets dry or tight."

Riku said nothing, thinking about how sore his arm was, dwelling on how Squall had a bandage, too, on his hip right where Riku had jabbed his elbow earlier, and how the quiet man had screamed out _FUCK_ and Riku hadn't cared at the time. Once again grimacing, he curled his arms around himself, wondering when he was going to stop feeling like shit.

After a moment of silence, Squall took the empty glass from the sink and turned to leave, his quiet footsteps fading into the bedroom. When he was gone, Riku glanced down at his chipped black nail polish, trying to concentrate past the pounding in his skull so he could remember a little more, something besides that damn fog in his mind.

The brown sludge Squall had given him to drink did a little twist in his stomach, but it settled after a second, and gradually the sickness inside of him ebbed, leaving him feeling slightly more calm about this whole thing. Calm enough to get up, still shaking slightly, and clamber into the shower. Maybe that family concoction had actually worked.

He closed the shower door behind himself, pausing there and straightening himself, leaning his head against the cool glass. He already knew he'd clean himself up and leave as soon as possible and never think about this again.

But as the warm water hit his sore body and washed his fatigue away, he couldn't help thinking about how a shower wouldn't get rid of the many love bites dotting his body, couldn't get rid of this tattoo or swollen tongue, and didn't erase the lingering scent of _Tommy_ and the connection it had to a man who didn't even know his name.

-o-o-

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
